


If Wishes Were Horses

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Background WayHaught, F/M, Fluff, minimal angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:32:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6991354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very self-indulgent piece of fluff, five times (in no particular order) Wynonna Earp made a wish and one time she didn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Wishes Were Horses

1.

Wrapped up, she feels—for the first time in decades—really safe.  She feels _normal_ , or as close to it as she has ever been.  All along her back, another body presses against hers, slowly but surely becoming less foreign a feeling, less strange.  Dolls runs a hand from her shoulder to her wrist then back, over and over, and she can feel his steady breathing, a calming anchor to the present and keeping her right there.  She never really thought of herself as the cuddling type, honestly, but she’s thinking idly that he may have converted her.

Ruining the moment, her phone chirps, and she fumbles for it on the nightstand.  She scowls at the time and sighs.

“Wave’s gonna be home soon,” she mumbles, making no move to untangle herself from him.  “We should get dressed.  She likes to barge in.  Hate to give her a heart attack.”

Dolls makes a noise, either acknowledgement or agreement, and smacks his lips against her shoulders before rolling away, leaving her cold.  Quickly, quietly, she tugs on her discarded clothes.  His shirt is on her dresser and she snags it, holds it behind her back as she watches him, back to her, search for it.  Smirking, she climbs across the bed to wrap her arms around his shoulders, dropping the shirt in his lap.

“You didn’t tell Waverly about…”

Humming, she presses a kiss behind his ear.  “Pretty sure she already knows.  Pretty sure she knew before we did, freaky little genius,” she murmurs.  “But there’s a difference between her knowing in the abstract and her walking in on in the act.”

He snorts.  She scoots so she can sit next to him.

What she doesn’t say is that he’ll leave, at some point—that’s his job.  What’s the point of making _this_ —whatever it is—public if at any moment he can be shipped off?  This way, it’s fun.  The moment she says the words out loud, it’s real.  Who wants that?

 _I wish it were different_ , she thinks a little sadly as she leans into him.

2.

It takes a lot of begging to get the doctor to let her in to see Nicole, but there was no way she was leaving without seeing her.  Limping on her newly-bandaged foot, Wynonna makes her way to the bed where the other woman is resting.  If she had told herself two months ago—two weeks ago, even—that she’d be close to tears over a _cop_ in the _hospital_ , she probably would have had herself committed again.  She takes the chair next to the bed, eyes the room around them.  It’s looking a little sparse, and she thinks a little distantly that she should have brought flowers or like… a teddy bear.

Before she can consider it further, there’s a loud gasp and her eyes dart back to Nicole, looking sleepy and beat up and with tears welling in her eyes.  “Wynonna?” she whispers.  “You’re alive?”

“Takes more than a lonely psychopath to get rid of me,” she jokes lamely, “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Sounding a little choked, Nicole wipes at her eyes and says, “I’m so sorry, Wynonna, I—“

“Hey,” she hears herself interrupt.  “This isn’t your fault—this _so_ isn’t your fault, I should never have gotten you involved.”  There’s a box of tissues on the table next to the bed and she offers it to Nicole, who dabs at her face and crushes the tissue in her uninjured hand.  “Nicole,” she urges as gently as she can, gingerly holding on to her wrist.  “This really isn’t your fault.”  _I wish you wouldn’t blame yourself_ , she doesn’t say because she knows.

She hiccups and nods but doesn’t look convinced.  Then, her eyes go wide.  “Waverly?”

“She’s outside, I—I wanted to see you first,” Wynonna answers, ducking her head to hide a knowing smirk.  “Doc wouldn’t let us both in, and I thought…”  Shaking the thought away, she continues, “I’m gonna let my sister have her turn.”  She stands, and leans over the bed to give Nicole a quick, soft hug.

3.

“Oh, goddamn,” Wynonna groans, head full of cotton.  The blaring florescent lights bore holes in her skull and she squeezes them shut.  There’s a sick, lurching feeling of familiarity in her gut, but when she’s able to open her eyes again, Waverly is at her side.  “What the… what the fuck?”

Her sister reaches forward, takes her hand.  “Nasty fight, didn’t go quite your way,” she explains her, voice hesitant.  “You got a concussion, couple stitches and bruises.”

“Dolls?”

“He’s fine,” Waverly soothes, “He’s okay, he’s dealing with doctors right now.”

She hadn’t realized that she’d started to sit up until she relaxes back into the pillow.

“You’re okay,” she mumbles, half-question and half-statement.

Waverly nods, eyes looking wet.

“I love you,” Wynonna grunts.  “But I wish I’d never come back to Purgatory.”

4.

“You know,” Wynonna addresses the crowd, only slightly uncomfortable behind the table at the front of the reception hall.  “Three years ago, I knew Nicole Haught as two things:  the only cop I could ever tolerate, and the girl who kept making goo-goo eyes at my sister.”  There’s a smattering of laughter of the crowd and she smirks.  “Now, she’s still definitely both of these things, but she’s also a friend, so I’ve been told to be _nice_. You know.  Whatever that means.  Through everything, Nicole’s been here—brave, kind, and, most of all, head-over-heels for Wave.”  She turns her gaze from the faces out in front of her to her sister and her bride.  “And, when it seemed impossible, you became one of my closest friends.  You know I hate having to be serious, but I’ll say this—I’m so happy you came into our lives, and that you’re officially joining our family today.  Wave, you picked a good one.”  Raising her glass, she continues, “I wish you both all the happiness in the world.  Cheers!”

The crowd echoes and she tosses back the champagne—old habits and all that.

Nicole and Waverly, in white but distinctly different gowns, both hug her.

“That was a nice speech,” Nicole teases.

“Yeah,” Wynonna agrees, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder, “Dolls wrote it.”

5.

The curse is broken.

She rolls the words around on her tongue and they’re bittersweet.

The curse is _broken_.

Around her, the others are packing up.  Waverly, looking distant and tired, is peeling pictures and newspaper clippings off of boards, placing them gingerly into labeled boxes.  Dolls is packing away files.  Wynonna can’t move, stares straight ahead.  The words keep rolling around in her head.  She’s… _numb_.  It wasn’t supposed to be like this—it was supposed to be a relief, freedom.  Instead, there’s only a dim, pounding sort of dread.

“This one’s full, I’m gonna take it out,” Waverly says softly, carrying a box.

After she leaves, Dolls sidles up next to her, winds an arm around her waist.  “What you’re feeling is natural,” he tells her.

She wants to ask how he knows what she’s feeling but instead leans into the embrace.  “You’re leaving,” she mumbles, frowning.  “I mean—I knew you would, this isn’t a surprise, I just.”  Scrubbing her face, she groans and slumps against his chest.

“You know how I feel,” he responds, warm and feeling a lot like _home,_ a scary and inconvenient realization to have at this particular moment.  “We could try to make it work.”

“Oh, we’re doing _that,_ and I have _ideas_ ,” she teases flatly.  “I just sorta wish I could come with you.  Officially.  Not all sneaky and under the government’s nose, like I’d planned.”

“’Sneaky,’” he repeats dubiously.  She props her head on his chest and snorts a laugh.  “It’ll be okay.”

+1.

The gentle tone of her phone going off distracts her enough that Andie is able to hit her dead in the center of her chest with a Nerf dart.  Gasping dramatically, she drops ‘dead’ on the floor.  Millie runs over and hits her with a shot at point-blank range.  Brutal, but the double-tap was a good idea.  She stays dead as the twins chase each other.  She looks at her phone—there’s a text from an unknown number, but it’s familiar because she’s gotten it dozens of times over the last half decade:

_Where are you?_

Smiling, she answers, _babysitting the twins, Wave and Nicole are on vacay_.  The girls dart past her and she sticks her tongue out to be a convincing cadaver.

Her response comes shortly:  _I hate when you say “vacay”._

She hums, taps back:  _r u coming?_

Another chime:  _Boarding now, don’t go anywhere for 12 hours._

Not that she’d had any plans to, but she sends back a half dozen exclamation points.

The twins, who are both seven and were adopted by Waverly and Nicole just over a year ago, are full of enough energy that over the course of the day she doesn’t have time to sit down and be _excited_ until she puts them down for bed—about an hour and a half after their moms usually do which is why she’s the cool one.  Finally, she’s able to take a _breath_ and collapses on the couch in an exhausted heap.  The TV is on some kids’ channel but she’s not actually paying too much attention, too busy checking her phone constantly and staring at the clock over the mantle.  Eventually, she starts to doze off, curled up against the arm of the couch.

Then, finally, just past midnight, her phone rings again.

 _Come outside_.

She bolts out the door.

Dolls is standing just in front of the porch, duffel bag on his shoulder.  She launches herself into his arms, snickering when he has to drop the bag to catch her.  “Real nice,” he teases into her mouth.

“Can’t I be happy to see you?  It’s been months!” she feigns pouting.

He bites his lip and murmurs, “Listen, I have something to tell you.”

“Secret’s out, I already know you love me,” she answers.

Pulling a face, he shushes her.  “I’ve been discharged,” he whispers, voice uncharacteristically unsteady.

Wynonna pushes away from him to stare at him, gaping.  “Wait, for real?”  He nods; she whoops loudly (forgetting she’s in the middle of a residential area) and does a quick victory dance.  “This isn’t some cruel joke, right?” she demands, smile so wide it hurts.

“You know I don’t joke,” he deadpans.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I got diabetes writing this shit tbh
> 
> Just needed to throw some fluff out there before tonight's episode, just in case.
> 
> Don't forget, I've got a [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) and will take prompts if asked nicely.


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